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ABSTRACT
Although Peru’s Intercultural Bilingual Education (IBE) program has been attempting to
pursue new directions, it still carries many ideologies and practices that have defined it
since it started half a century ago. In this article, I discuss the way some of these ideologies
and practices related to language are reproduced in a preservice teacher training program
in one of the capital city’s private universities, which implements a national policy of social
inclusion for Quechua-speaking youth from vulnerable contexts. On the basis of diverse
dichotomies (L1/L2, Spanish use/Quechua use, Spanish literacy practices/Quechua
literacy practices, Quechua speaker/Spanish speaker), the program produces two types of
hierarchized subjectivities: one related to the subject educated in Quechua and another
related to the subject educated in Spanish, both coming from a conception of languages
as discrete codes that go together with fixed ethnolinguistic groups and bounded cultural
practices (GARCÍA et al., 2017). In the context of new sociocultural dynamics and
bilingualisms, young students in the program subvert these divisions and begin to trace new
paths for IBE and Quechua in Perú.
Keywords: Quechua; youth; intercultural bilingual education.
RESUMO
Apesar do programa de Educação Intercultural Bilíngue (EIB) do Peru estar tentando
buscar novas direções, ele ainda carrega no seu bojo muitas das ideologias e práticas que
o vem definindo desde que iniciou há meio século. Neste artigo, discuto o modo como
algumas dessas ideologias e práticas relativas a línguas são reproduzidas em um programa
de treinamento pré-serviço de professores em uma das universidades particulares da capital
do país, a qual implementa uma política nacional de inclusão social para jovens falantes de
quéchua oriundos de contextos vulneráveis. Tendo por base dicotomias diversas (L1/L2, uso
do espanhol/uso do quéchua, práticas de letramento em espanhol/práticas de letramento
em quéchua, falante de quéchua/falante de espanhol), o programa produz dois tipos de
subjetividades hierarquizadas: uma relativa ao sujeito educado em quéchua e uma outra
relativa ao sujeito educado em espanhol, ambas derivadas da noção de línguas como códigos
discretos e vinculadas a determinados grupos etnolinguísticos e a práticas culturais bem
INTRODUCTION
of new subjectivities (VALDÉS, 2017), and begin to trace new paths for IBE and
Quechua in Perú.
1. HISTORICAL CONTEXT
of the State and have an important influence in official discourses and policies, at
least in those circumscribed to IBE. Within a fractally recursive move (IRVINE &
GAL 2000; GAL, 2018), and appropriating the discourse of dominant linguistics,
these “Quechua experts” (ZAVALA, forthcoming a) construct their authority
and expertise based on particular language ideologies that tend to coincide with
the dominant discourse on intercultural bilingual education in Perú and bilingual
education in other contexts1. They favor traditional and grammaticalized methods
for language teaching, reproduce a representation of the ideal bilingual speaker
as two “perfect” monolinguals in one body, and enact reductionist language
theories based on monolingual and purist perspectives, which sanction linguistic
transference, borrowing, and code switching. The latter coincides with many
bilingual education programs around the world, which argue that languages should
be kept separate when learning and teaching them (CUMMINS, 2008). However,
together with these conservative language ideologies, these Quechua experts also
favor strategic essentialisms that lead them to oppose Spanish and Western culture.
According to this defensive positioning, Quechua should be used only to talk about
“Quechua topics” or about ancestral cultural practices from high-altitude peasant
communities and should not be taught by “foreigners” who do not inhabit an
authentic “Andean worldview” (ZAVALA, 2014b). In general, then, IBE has been
dominated by essentializing discourses of language and identity (JAFFE, 2007),
which take for granted a natural and essential link between the Quechua language
and the Quechua people as a bounded and fixed cultural group, situate the language
in a pre-contact past as if it were maximally different from Spanish, and promote
static views of culture and tradition (TRAPNELL & ZAVALA, 2013). Since the
1970s, the target beneficiaries of IBE have only been those children from primary
schools who speak Quechua as their mother tongue, live in rural areas, and are
socialized through ancestral cultural practices.
However, current globalization processes, increased mobility, a wider access
to higher education and an intense use of technological advances have produced
a different sociolinguistic scenario in Perú. In this context, and in contrast to the
above, young, urban Quechua-speaking people in certain networks are constructing
their own patterns of language use and identity, which counter the fixed patterns
1. Within the field of Language Ideologies, fractal recursivity constitutes a semiotic process that
involves the projection of an opposition onto some other level (IRVINE & GAL 2000). In the case
I am analyzing, intergroup relations of domination between Spanish-speaking people and Quechua
speaking ones (based on elitist Spanish literacy ideologies) are projected inward onto intragroup
relations among Quechua-speaking people themselves. This reproduces the opposition between
the ones who “know” and the ones who “do not know” the language, but within a smaller group.
and reified identities that are attributed to them within official discourse (ZAVALA,
forthcoming b). In fact, these people are currently challenging binarisms still
reproduced in IBE official discourse, such as tradition and modernity, rural and
urban, first and second language, speaker and non-speaker of an indigenous
language, indigenous and non-indigenous, local and global, indigenous language
and Spanish, authentic and inauthentic, etc. This phenomenon can be framed
within the emerging field of indigenous youth and multilingualism, which has
recently discussed the role of indigenous youth as policy makers who display
agency and sociolinguistic innovation towards reshaping themselves and claiming
new indigenous identities (WYMAN et al., 2014; MCCARTY ET AL., 2009;
HORNBERGER & SWINEHART, 2012). In this paper, I will show that, after
a couple of semesters in the program under study, the students started to align
themselves with this Quechua youth. They have reacted to the language ideologies
promoted in the institution and contested this sociolinguistic regime that, according
to them, restricts what they would like to do through Quechua. They have been
constructing their own patterns of language use and identity display, opening up
ideological spaces for new Quechua indexicalities and practices.
In the field of language studies, there has been a turn from a modernist and
positivist language perspective to a critical and post structuralist one (PENNYCOOK,
2001). Within this paradigm, we do not study language or language forms, but
rather “language practices in interrelationship to the sociohistorical political and
economic conditions that produce them” (GARCÍA et al., 2017, p. 5). If we follow
this approach, bilingualism would no longer be understood as a cognitive system
with two linguistic compartments, but as dynamic and fluid practices that people
engage with in order to produce meaning and communicate in diverse contexts of
their lives (CANAGARAJAH, 2013; GARCÍA, 2009; HELLER, 2007). Therefore,
instead of focusing on the languages as abstract, bounded, and autonomous codes
(that are code-switched or code-mixed), a social practice perspective implies
approaching bilingualism or multilingualism in terms of repertoires of linguistic
or communicative resources (RYMES, 2014). Canagarajah has even questioned
the notion of multilingual, since it is associated with separate languages, separate
cognitive compartments, and separate language groups, and it “doesn’t acommodate
the dynamic interactions between languages and communities envisioned by
translingual” (2013, p. 7).
Quechua can only be used to speak and write about “Quechua topics”, as if these
constitute natural and decontextualized connections that cannot change (ZAVALA
& BRAÑEZ, 2017).
3. METHODOLOGY
4. THE PROGRAM
Although the document also states that IBE seeks to “democratize society
and close the gaps of social inequality” (2014, p. 18), this excerpt presuposses a
series of ideological representations that reproduce the historical discourse of IBE.
It establishes that, once they graduate, students from the program will have to teach
in rural communities, that all of the students were born and raised in these peasant
communities, or at least that they belong to them (“their own communities”),
that rural education is a problem, that linguistic diversity can only be found in
rural areas, and that this diversity is dealt with only through the implementation
of IBE in rural contexts. In general, what interests me is the connection that is
established between the students as Quechua speakers, the Quechua language and
a specific territory, and the ideological process of erasing (IRVINE & GAL, 2000)
Quechua speakers from urban areas and cities. Although in Lima half a million of
the population declared speaking Quechua at home (National Census, 2007), this
is clearly made invisible in the document and national policies in general.
Quechua experts, many of whom currently work in the Ministry of Education,
have contributed to the development of the curriculum and are now teaching the
Quechua courses in these universities. In alignment with the Ministry of Education,
these institutions understand IBE as “the planned educational process that takes
place in two languages (Quechua and Spanish) and in two cultures” with the goal
2. Preservice teacher education in IBE has been implemented since the 1980s (see ZAVALA, 2007 for
a review), but this is the first time that it has been implemented in a university in Lima and under
a government scholarship such as the one mentioned above.
of “students maintaining and developing not only their language but also other
manifestations of their culture” (Program’s official curriculum from the university
under study). The program implements a sequence of Spanish language courses
and another sequence of Quechua language courses within a variety of discipline
courses (like history, philosophy or literature) that are taught entirely in Spanish.
None of the students has attended an IBE program during their previous
schooling, since the offer of these types of existing programs only benefit 15% of
the population. All of the students come from the Quechua-speaking Southern
Andes. Some of them were born and raised in peasant communities, others in small
and more urbanized districts, and some in the capital city of one of the Southern
regions (such as Cusco or Ayacucho). Nonetheless, many of them also moved
along this rural-urban continuum during their short lives. All of them had to qualify
as “extremely poor” in order to get the financial support from the government and
almost all of them represent the first generation of their families to access higher
education.
In what follows, I will discuss four types of dichotomies that the institution
under study reproduces in its preservice teacher education program: 1) L1 vs L2, 2)
contexts for Spanish use vs contexts for Quechua use, 3) Spanish texts and literacy
practices vs Quechua texts and literacy practices, and 4) The Quechua language
system vs the Spanish language system. For each dichotomy, I will also discuss the
students’ reactions.
4.1 L1/L2
emergent bilinguals (GARCÍA, 2009), since they have been exposed to Quechua
less than an “L1 speaker” but more than an “L2 speaker”3. Emergent bilinguals
cannot be categorized in the same way as mother tongue speakers or learners of
a second language because they have unique characteristics. They are located in
a bilingual continuum that deconstructs artificial categorizations such as “second
language learner” versus “fluent speaker,” which is difficult to determine (GARCÍA,
2009). Many of the students from the program learned Spanish first and became
familiarized with Quechua in a more passive way in different situations of their lives.
Besides these students (who represent 30% of the student population
from the program), the rest of the students who did learn Quechua in their early
socialization and who used to speak it regularly before going to primary school
feel that this language is not the one they currently speak better. One student, for
example, told me that he stopped speaking Quechua when he was six “because my
parents forbid me to speak it because I had problems at school.” Then he adds: “I
identify more with Spanish than with Quechua.” Another student also declared:
When I was three I used to speak full Quechua, and my aunts and uncles were mad at me
because I used to speak it and told my parents that I should not speak Quechua, that it
looks bad, that it sounds horrible, “Don’t teach her Quechua”. Hence, bit by bit, when I got
into kindergarten, I was learning Spanish and I started to adapt myself to Spanish in primary
school. I currently understand Quechua perfectly, but I don’t speak it.
This shows that language learning does not constitute a merely technical
process with a predictable linearity, but that it is linked to issues of identification,
prohibition, and above all, power relations (DUFF, 2011). This can be clearly
appreciated in the case of Quechua, since the stigmatization towards the language
makes the speaker stop using it in different periods of his life. Although the students
got into the program because they supposedly speak the indigenous language “as
their mother tongue”, once they are in it, they face their linguistic condition. As
speakers of an oppressed language, they do not know how to write it, they are
ashamed of speaking it, and when they try to do so, they feel that they always get
stuck. As a Quechua teacher once told me: “Quechua is not like Spanish. It’s a
3. ‘Heritage language speaker’ constitutes a broad category that refers to someone who has some
ability in the language that his/her parents or grandparents speak. However, it could also refer to a
person whose distant ancestors spoke a language that he/she no longer does. The category has been
criticized because it connotes and old language of the past and insists on only one language and not
on the bilingual possibilities of the speaker (GARCÍA, 2009). Most recently, some scholars have
preferred the term ‘emergent bilingual’, since “it recognizes the fluidity of bilingual language use,
the possibilities of bilingual acquisition and the potentiality of accessing a full range of expressive
and communicative possibilities now and in the future” (GARCÍA, 2005).
paralytic, a tuberculosis sufferer. It’s not a language like Spanish, which is healthy. It
has gotten sick due to discrimination and has not recovered yet”.
But the institution does not only represent these students as speakers of
Quechua as their first language but also as learners of Spanish as L2, as if Spanish
were a foreign language that does not belong to them, despite the fact that the
majority of them have gone through their entire schooling in Spanish and this is the
language that they used mostly before they enrolled in the program. For instance,
during a Spanish classroom session a teacher told the students: “you have to do
it in your language. Now you are doing it in another language, this language that
you are learning (Spanish).” This produces a clear-cut differentiation between an
“Us” (Spanish speakers) and a “Them” (non-Spanish speakers) within a racializing
rhetoric concealed as “culture.” Furthermore, teachers argue that students should
not study English yet because “they are still making progress with Spanish as L2”
(Program Coordinator), despite the fact that the latter are enthusiastic about
learning English with the support of the government scholarship.
The students do not understand why the program imparts courses of
“Castellano” (Spanish), where teachers assume that they do not know this language
and that they are in the process of aquiring it. The students constantly compare
these courses of “Castellano” with those of “Lengua” (Language) that are taught in
other majors of the same university: “Why is there a difference between “Castellano”
and “Lengua?” Why “Castellano” for us and another thing for other students who
have the same capacities as we do?” One specific student declared:
They assumed that we knew Quechua. I felt as if they put us away in a corner because we are
indigenous, and they must teach us Spanish. If I already know Spanish, how come they want
to teach me Spanish? They have made us feel that we don’t know how to speak Spanish and
that is not true.
The student who told me thatshe stopped using Quechua when he was
six years old and ever since had identified more with Spanish than with Quechua
pointed out out that: “When I got here, I was shocked to realize that they wanted
to teach me Spanish.” Another student reported a teacher telling her:
‘I can see that you do not master Spanish, this is why you do not understand,’ as if speaking
Spanish could solve all the difficulties that we have. There are certainly other factors that
intervene, like education for instance.
will not be able to cope with more challenging content, which could be found in
courses of “Lengua” taught to the “regular” students.
In sum, many students feel frustrated because they do not fit in the bilingual
ideal that IBE official discourse imposes and that is equivalent to having Quechua
as L1 and Spanish as L2 or being “coordinated” bilinguals. Many feel delegitimized
because they are represented as Spanish learners and the institution questions
their competence in this language. They even declared that some of the “regular”
students from other majors have told them that they do not know enough Spanish
because they take courses of “Castellano” instead of “Lengua” and that this has
made them feel really bad.
This representation of the students as speakers of Quechua as L1 and
Spanish as L2 could be framed within the raciolinguistic ideologies that have
been discussed lately for other contexts (FLORES & ROSA, 2015; ALIM et al.,
2016). This theoretical framework switches the focus of attention to the listening
subject (BLOMMAERT et al., 2005; INOUE, 2003), that is, from the speakers
and their language practices towards the listeners and the perceptions that they
have about them. In addition, it maintains that the listeners never perceive the
speakers’ language practices in an objective way but always through the lens of their
racialized positioning in the social structure. Therefore, raciolinguistic ideologies
fuse certain racialized bodies with linguistic deficiency, in spite of the existence
of objective language practices. In the case that I am analyzing, the institution of
higher education perceives the students’ bilingual repertoires from an ideology of
languagelessness (ROSA, 2016), which assumes the limited linguistic capacity of
a social group, one that does not necessarily coincide with the students’ language
abilities and practices. After all, we never have access to reality in a neutral and
direct way, but always within the mediation of ideologies, values, and many types of
regulations (HALL, 2010).
in the focal language, that is, Spanish in the Spanish courses and Quechua in the
Quechua courses. When students use Quechua in Spanish courses the teachers
feel uncomfortable and call the students’ attention; when they use Spanish in the
Quechua courses, the teachers sanction it by saying that a “virus” has got into the
classroom, as if the use of Spanish constitutes a betrayal of the indigenous language.
Nevertheless, the students’ language resources are clearly not
compartimentalized and the simultaneous use of the resources associated with the
different named languages constitutes the unmarked practice in many contexts.
These include social networks, through which they interact with other Quechua-
speaking youth from other contexts not necessarily related to the university. In what
follows I present an example of an interaction on WhatsApp, where the Quechua
teacher also participates. Although the use of technology in the Quechua courses
is not very common, some teachers activate a WhatsApp or FaceBook group with
their students in order to interact in Quechua (but only Quechua!):
Teacher: Yachapakuqkunaaaa!!!(students!!!!)
Imaynallam!!! (how are you?)
Kawsakunkichikraqchu? (are you still alive?)
Imallatapas willarikamuychikyaaaa (say whatever you want)
CR7: Allillanmi yachachiq, (we are OK teacher)
Qampas allillancha!!! (are you OK too?)
Pukyu: I am excited
CR7: hahaha
BRJC10: How are you teacher
Tania: Hi!!!.. ¿How are you teacher??
Teacher: Se han vuelto tribilingues o
trilingües? (have you turned into “tribilingues4” or trilinguals?)
#MR**: Yes
BRJC10: Ari yachachiq (yes teacher)
Teacher: I’m fine
4. “Tribilingüe” comes from “Tribilín”, the name, in Spanish, of the Disney character “Goofy”, which
could connote silliness.
In this example, we can see that these students do not set boundaries
among the languages involved (mainly Quechua and English in this case) and that
they construct their multilingual identity with no problems. They also use some
resources associated with English in a creative way in order to align themselves
vis à vis the teacher, although they are not supposed to be learning English yet.
However, the teacher does assume a sanctioning posture: “Have you turned into
‘tribilingues’ or trilinguals?” Although we could analyze this excerpt in more detail,
I am mostly interested in showing that the teacher ends up “throwing in the towel”,
using English himself and acknowledging that the use of the three named languages
could be positive and empowering.
The program also constructs a division between what is read and written
in Spanish and what is read and written in Quechua within a dualistic approach
to literacy (CANAGARAJAH, 2013) or a particular “Great Divide,” which claims
fundamental differences between “kinds” of languages and of literacies (and of
peoples and cultures as well) and assumes that minoritized languages have their own
norms and values that must be preserved. While in Spanish the students learn to
write academic texts, the situation in Quechua is very different. In the six Quechua
courses of the university program, teachers promote the production – and mainly
the record or compilation – of “literary” texts such as stories, traditional chants,
poems, and riddles. At first, I thought that the teaching of Quechua writing could be
framed within the discourse of creativity (although with particular specifications),
following Ivanic’s categorization of six discourses of writing (skills, creativity,
process, genre, social practices, and sociopolitical). Ivanic (2005) points out that
the discourse of creativity has influences from literature and is concerned with
content and style rather than linguistic form. This approach has been privileged
in contexts of minorities and vulnerable populations, since it has been used to give
voice through vernacular practices. However, it has also been considered romantic
and asocial and as authorizing disadvantage by encouraging learners to write texts
that will not be valued in the real world (IVANIC, 2005).
Now, despite the fact that the record or compilation of literary texts is
conducted without much guidance or regulation, there is also an emphasis on the
standardization of writing and the use of “pure and authentic Quechua,” in the sense
of the production of texts within the standardized alphabet and no use of Spanish
loanwords. For instance, students are asked to interview peasants, transcribe what
they have taperecorded and finally, standardize the written product. They are also
asked to listen to –and tape record – cultural rituals and then transcribe them with
a standardized Quechua. Hence, students must write about the traditions that
they supposedly know within defined norms of grammatical and orthographic
correctness that they must obey. As one of the students declared, “What we do
is to correct what the grandfather tells us”. This discourse of “writing the cultural
knowledge of our people” does not seem to fit in earlier typifications of discourses
of writing and learning to write, in the sense of configurations of beliefs and practices
in relation to the teaching of writing, such as the one proposed by Ivanic (2005). It
could, instead, be situated within a discourse that I am calling “writing as a cultural
archive.” Conceptualizing literacy as a social practice –and not a technical skill-
allows us to reveal how reading and writing is embedded in the construction of
identities and the reproduction and contestation of language ideologies and wider
ideologies in general (STREET, 2001). Literacy, as inherently ideological, always
constitutes an active process of meaning making and contest over definition.
Within this orientation of “writing as a cultural archive”, the program does
not promote Quechua writing for communicative purposes or with a specific
audience in mind but only to remember and learn about cultural traditions. Besides
this absence of a communicative function, Quechua teachers ask students to write
about particular topics that are assumed as intrinsically linked to the language.
Hence, they favor the writing about “elements of their culture”: “things from
their community, their parents, their cosmovision” (Quechua teacher), as if the
students’ culture constitutes only what is related to the peasant world from the rural
context. The imperative is clearly not to forget the ancestral values, with the goal
of maintaining the sense of belonging to their places of origin. It is not surprising,
then, that the Quechua courses do not incorporate digital or new media platforms
for developing reading and writing activities online.
Even though when the students start the program they mostly accept how
and what they are taught from Quechua experts, as they advance in their studies,
they start to question the approach used in the Quechua courses. They are critical
of the fact that the teachers only promote the production of literary texts or that
they spend too much time discussing textbook materials elaborated by the Ministry
of Education for primary IBE schools. “We wanted more,” pointed out one of the
students in a focus group. Another one added: “I have always wanted to write,
for instance, a paper or a monograph in Quechua. We would also like to write our
thesis in Quechua”. Many students ask for other types of texts in Quechua and
are starting to write in Quechua within different types of practices. One of them
points it out in a very direct way: “Writing only poems and stories is limiting, and
you are tempted to think that your language is only useful for literary aspects, and
not for academic ones or for research.” As a matter of fact, there are many students
who would like to engage with Quechua writing but not only for “remembering”
ancestral experiences or vivencias. In fact, currently some of them are developing
alternative practices through social networks, virtual journals, and other spaces of
which the teaching training program does not take advantage.
In contrast to the discourse of IBE, which targets a specific kind of Quechua
speaker (rural, “L1”, ancestral values, etc.), the students from the program feel
part of a broader community that includes those who have not learned Quechua as
their mother tongue and even those who are interested in learning it from scratch.
In terms of literacy, they also want to incorporate the latter: “We should write for
Quechua-speaking people but also for those who are non-Quechua-speaking, but in
Quechua. It’s not that you want to impose your Quechua, nor teach them Quechua
forcibly, but invigorate the language”, declared a student from the program. With
that aim, one of the students, for example, declared that he wants to write in
Quechua for Spanish-speaking people but using strategies that could help them
understand the language. He mentions the inclusion of glossaries in the case of texts
or subtitles in Spanish in the case of videos. His point is the following: “Today’s
struggle should be the everyday nature of Quechua, not vindication or claims, not
even inclusion, but the everyday nature itself. Only by turning Quechua into an
everyday language we will guarantee its survival in public spaces, in academic ones,
in everything.”
In addition, the students want to write, not only to remember an ancestral
practice, but to be read and listened to. One of them declared: “the symbolic is
OK, I publish a book of poems, that’s nice, that sells, it is fashionable. But what I
really want is to be read, to be cited, I would like to cite other people [who write
in Quechua] too.” Another one asked: “Do you want your writing to be used in
different domains or will you write for theorists and intellectuals, or for the teacher
to grade you and that’s it?” The students realize that earning a voice does not only
imply the power to say things in their language (as when they write about their
places of origins and their ancestral practices) but, above all, to be heard by other
people and also to be able to influence them (RUIZ, 1997).
Motivated by the above, a group of students decided to create their own
virtual library in Quechua (and in Spanish), which they are using to “disseminate
what we could do with the language.” This Web page does not only include a virtual
library but also a journal where the students write in both languages “about reflective
topics that are affecting us” (according to one of them). In this platform, we can
find poems and literary criticisms of those poems, a letter addressed to the Peruvian
president, a reflection about multilingualism not being a problem, a critique about
the notion of interculturality, etc. A student who wrote a literary commentary
in Quechua about another student’s book of poems received a message from a
Peruvian writer who lives in Paris, who proposed that she should develop a more
ambitious literary work that would incorporate four books of poems. “Since that
happened, several people are starting to know me,” she declared. Clearly, writing
in Quechua is inserting both the language itself and Quechua writers into another
paradigm: “It is a way of writing more academically, and it’s writing in Quechua not
for a reduced audience but for a more general one that includes Spanish-speaking people,
Quechua-speaking people, bilinguals and everybody” (student from the program, emphasis
added). Many other young Quechua activists from other contexts are writing in
Quechua within this same logic. One videoblogger from Abancay declared that her
work will benefit all Peruvians: “those who know how to speak the language but also
those who do not know, but who will start speaking it.”
As have been discussed above, teachers also talk about Quechua in ideal terms,
as if the students (and even peasants from rural communities) were monolinguals
with a “pure” and “non-contaminated” Quechua from Spanish influence and not
bilinguals who are constantly developing translingual practices. This is observed
when students are policed whenever they incoporate Spanish in their Quechua
communicative practices, either in oral speech or written texts. For instance, in
one of the Quechua courses, the students were asked to spend almost half of the
semester “correcting” a peasant testimony that was published three decades ago.
This meant that they needed to standardize the alphabet and replace Spanish
loanwords with Quechua “authentic” terms. The goal was to recover a Quechua
language that does not exist anymore and that is very distant from Spanish and
bilingual contemporary practices.
Besides challenging the classical writings that are being developed in the
indigenous language, the students also consider that the “pure” Quechua that is
used in the classroom does not reflect the current bilingual identity that they intend
to display. For instance, one of the students commented that he feels constrained
during the Quechua courses because he is being trained as a monolingual Quechua
isolated from contemporary language practices. Moreover, he pointed out that
when he visits his parents and speaks “in his intellectual and academic Quechua,”
this has not worked for him because people do not understand him. Another
student also declared that when she tries to use the type of Quechua that is favored
in the classroom: “I have difficulties to converse with my mom.” For these students,
this type of Quechua does not fit in a world of Quechua bilinguals and trilinguals;
a world where “not even my grandfather speaks pure Quechua”, as one of them
stated. This idea is aligned with what a Quechua activist from Cusco once told
me: “I see much solemnity in academic Quechua. You can’t use that Quechua for
everyday expressions.” One student from the program states it bluntly:
Either you opt for bilingualism or you turn into someone so Quechua or mono Quechua; thus,
this is what you have to figure out and this is not being discussed (in the courses). This is
an issue that we should discuss in relation to Quechua literacy. What do we want today? Do
we adapt to today’s context or do we really want, as my uncle says, right? ‘Enough! Spanish
got here by God’s grace, so now we will give it back to Spain in a package and we will stay
only with the Quechua language.’ Either we do that or we adapt ourselves to such a bilingual
context of today’s world.
In sum, the Quechua teachers from this program reproduce specific practices
in Quechua influenced by different language ideologies: (i) They conceive language
more as structure and competence than as practice, (ii) defend a discourse of
language preservation oriented toward the past (DUCHENE & HELLER, 2008),
(iii) sustain a rigid and fixed connection between language, community and place
(CANAGARAJAH, 2013), (iv) talk about Quechua as if students were monolinguals
and not bilinguals who constantly develop translingual practices and (v) promote
the separation of languages and other types of dichotomies (such as L1/L2, local/
global, authentic/non-authentic) that have been part of the discourse of IBE in Perú
and other contexts.
In contrast to Quechua experts, young people are starting to inscribe the use
of Quechua within new social practices. Instead of excluding others through literacy
knowledge, linguistic terminology, or other means (ZAVALA, forthcoming a), they
are trying to construct a wide community that includes not only “native” speakers
but also heritage, emergent, and new speakers (O’ROURKE et al., 2015). Moreover,
since they want to reach a wider audience, they are not so driven by orthography,
language purity, and essentializing connections of language and culture. They are
more interested in using New Media and multimodal literacy because they want to
be read and listened to as they display themselves as contemporary bilinguals.
FINAL THOUGHTS
The analysis of this program has shown that its Intercultural Bilingual Education
model promotes dichotomies where languages are conceptualized as things and not
as practices. All of these dichotomies conceal the same epistemological frame: a
positivist and autonomous view of language that favors the focus on the language
system and not on language use, on truth and not on ideology, on stability and not
on change.
For the students enrolled in this program, Quechua and Spanish are not
equivalent to mutually exclusive ways of being; rather, they relate in dynamic ways
to the subjectivities that they display in different contexts. For many of them,
their trajectories of bilingualism and the communicative repertoires that they have
developed do not fit in the official discourse of IBE, in which the “true” Quechua
speaking people would be only those with a traditional past and a mother tongue
not contaminated by Spanish. The consequence of this dominant representation
is that many bilinguals feel forced to assimilate to an ideal monolingual norm.
Furthermore, many of them even feel deligitimized and excluded from the program
and the IBE project in general. This deligitimation of speakers on the basis of the
idea that they are not using the “correct” form of language in relation to the identity
that they are claiming has been observed in many other contexts (PAVLENKO
& BLACKLEDGE, 2004; BAILEY, 2000; SHENK, 2007; BUCHOLTZ & HALL,
2004).
Many researchers have argued that an exclusive focus on academic registers
can affect the speakers’ attitudes towards their vernacular language use and the
sociocultural heritage that they index. In that sense, in many biliterate programs,
teachers promote texts from minoritized authors, written in vernacular genres and
styles and within a more contextualized language (HORNBERGER & SKILTON-
of the different languages involved and discuss who has the right to use them and
in which circumstances (HELLER, 2011).
Therefore, the struggle should no longer be to preserve a pure well-bounded
and essential collection of structural and lexical features associated with Quechua,
but to advocate for the cultural-linguistic complex set of practices that people
currently use (OTHEGUY et al., 2015). Although Quechua needs protection in
order to grow, especially because it is always under the threat of being oppressed by
Spanish, the conceptualization of Quechua as a bounded, objectified homogeneous
and structural system has produced limiting and fictitious views on how it is
operating in the world, as this study has revealed. In contrast to experts, who
are privileging a “scientific” discourse on language over everyday understandings
of it, these students’ local knowledge and practices are desinventing languages
(MAKONI & PENNYCOOK, 2006). I am tempted to believe that only through
the disinvention of Quechua and the valuing of more semiotic practices will there
be more and new speakers of the language (OTHEGUY et al., 2015).
The students under study position themselves as speakers of Quechua in
urban, global, mobile, and transnational contexts. They are speakers of Quechua
but also of Spanish; they are traditional but also contemporary; they are rural but
also urban; they are local but also global; they are indigenous but at the same time,
they are not. And they do not like it when they are told in the institution of higher
education that their only choice when they graduate will be to work as bilingual
teachers or as “chakra maestros” in rural peasant communities.
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Recebido: 24/08/2018
Aceito: 04/10/2018